


King's Pieces

by nomwrites



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Young!Harry, Young!Merlin, merlahad, tags and warnings will be added if future chapters require them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomwrites/pseuds/nomwrites
Summary: "You are unbelievable,” he growls, giving Harry the most unimpressed look he can muster.“I’m a spy, darling,” explains Harry, patiently. “What did you expect me to do?”“You could have asked me.”“But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”Or: The boys celebrate Merlin's birthday.Or: The first of a drabble series.





	King's Pieces

At the end of the night, rumpled, sweaty, and lounging on the sofa with a glass of scotch in hand, Merlin turns to Harry and asks, “How did you find out it was my birthday? I'm sure I secured those files. Did my lot tell you?”

“Hardly. Not that I didn’t try, of course, but their lips were sealed tighter than a nun’s—”

“Harry!”

Liquid gold sloshes in Harry’s glass as he doubles over in a fit of laughter. Rolling his eyes, Merlin plucks the drink out of Harry’s hand and deposits it safely on the table.

“You’re drunk,” he says dryly, which sets Harry off even more. It takes him a while to settle down, giving Merlin ample time to observe the back of his head. Sweat and evening damp from their pub crawl must have washed some of the product out of Harry’s hair—it’s lush, mahogany waving down toward the nape of his neck, the ends curling delicately around pale skin.

Instead of burying a hand in that inviting mess and putting his mouth against that achingly vulnerable spot, Merlin says, “Come on then, out with it.”

“It was simple, really,” Harry begins, cheeks still flushed from laughing. He reclaims his glass and leans back into the cushions with it. “I went to St. Andrews and had tea with your grandmother.”

“You— What?”

“Oh, of course, my apologies.” For a moment, Merlin thinks Harry’s about to restore sanity to this conversation but then he continues, “You call her Nanna, don’t you? Lovely woman. Fantastic aim. We had pheasant for dinner.”

Merlin stares at him.

It’s preposterous, outrageous, mad— _the floppy-haired bastard_. But it’s also something he can all too well imagine of Harry, with his disturbingly skewed sense of propriety and well-meaning. Merlin’s not entirely sure why he’s as surprised as he is. Or why he isn't angrier.

(Later, when he’s alone, he will admit to himself that the answer to both is because he has faith in Harry Hart as a good man. Harry would find the sentiment utterly hilarious and so Merlin will never tell him.)

For now, “You are unbelievable,” he growls, giving Harry the most unimpressed look he can muster.

“I’m a spy, darling,” explains Harry, patiently. “What did you expect me to do?”

“You could have asked me.”

“But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”

Merlin lets the last of the scotch in his glass burn his throat, the better to distract himself from the expression of indignant disbelief on Harry’s face.

“Besides,” the incorrigible tosser continues, “Weren’t you tickled pink when I turned up tonight? We painted the town red. It was marvellous.”

“I’m fairly certain the phrase ‘paint the town red’ wasn’t meant to be used literally.”

“Be fair—the assassins weren’t my fault.”

“What about the pub fights?”

“I didn’t start any of them.”

Merlin’s colleagues tell him that he’s made an art of raising the pointed eyebrow.

“…alright, I started two of them.”

“And you binned my birthday cake.”

“We needed the box,” Harry says, defensively. “How else were we to smuggle a decapitated head through—“ he stops abruptly when he catches sight of Merlin’s grin.

“It _was_ marvellous,” Merlin says.

For the brilliant smile he gets in return, he will admit out loud exactly why he can never stay mad at Harry _bloody_ Hart for too long.

Moving deliberately, he appropriates Harry’s glass, tossing the rest of the contents down his throat in one go, then winds his hand around Harry’s tie and pulls. Their first kiss is hard and dirty—Merlin lets go of the tie to bury his hands, finally, in that ridiculous hair while Harry surges against him, licking into Merlin’s mouth as if he were chasing every last bit of the scotch left.

Later, when they're forced by necessity to draw apart in order to breathe:

“I’m surprised you didn’t tie a bow around yourself. Did you have a sudden attack of subtlety?”

“Don’t be absurd. The bow has been placed strategically. You shall unravel it with your teeth.”

“…I should have told you when my birthday was years ago.”

**Author's Note:**

> St. Andrews because James McAvoy apparently told Mark Strong that he'd got the North East Fife accent down. I know nothing about Scottish accents. Appropriately for this fandom, my source was The Sun.


End file.
